


Good Intentions

by adaora



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Sibling Rivalry, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaora/pseuds/adaora
Summary: Ela thinks not, and Harry thinks he can tell.
Relationships: Elżbieta "Ela" Bosak & Zofia Bosak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Good Intentions

Thirty minutes.

His handheld recorder will store files lasting up to sixty. He keeps them to fifteen. 

His short-term memory, as far as he knows, will go as far as reciting the past one of a conversation. He keeps it to zero, because that’s what his handheld recorder is for.

Ela does not know of time limits when dressed in jeans and a cardigan, out of her combat routines and scenarios. Maybe she knows of the names of all the colours ranging from pink to turquoise, and how to balance a pencil on the tip of her tongue (as her sister had told him; an old childhood habit that had agitated her). But not of time limits.

‘Ela’. Harry finds it amusing. 

Finds a shorthand for a more complicated truth amusing - something Rainbow does not shy away from; complications and truths. 

‘Elżbieta’ is not something he can pronounce, neither to himself nor a mirror, and as ‘Six’ - as someone his operators seek out in moments of need - he supposes substituting it out for ‘Elizabeth’, or butchering its pronunciation outright, would violate the very thing he should exhibit; the ability to be understanding on their behalf.

Empathy.

“...and it’s not like it’s  _ my _ …” Her hand-centric emphases have not ceased. “... _ fault… _ that she was father’s favorite, but…”

Harry thinks he slept too little last night. Or that Ela slept too much. 

Either way, empathy is scarce under the soft, British sunlight of his Oxford house, patio glass doors open and the sound of wind-brushed trees battling with Ela’s thick accent that turns her ‘u’s to a syrupy blend between an ‘a’ and an ‘e’, and Harry worries he is failing himself.

It is not that he does not care, he does care, but Ela is… she is…

“...so exhausting, you know? To put up with…”

No, she’s putting words in his mouth. She isn’t exhausting, she…

“...doesn’t care about…”

No.

“...really gets to me…”

No.

“...sometimes I just think I could strangle her…”

“Ela.”

The voice stops, and emphasising hands fall with guilty haste from their half-throttling gesture.

Ela is of fortitude like the very word ‘confidence’ implies: she is hard-working, thorough, and observant without a slick of doubt, and she has enough self-assurance left over to even exhibit an appetising show of philanthropy; the patience to sit with those less advantaged to her and hear their stories with warm covers and drinks.

Some would say her confidence exceeds her own benefit, that the emerald-green streaks in her hair and her obsession with carving a path away from authority is a clear sign that her confidence takes her too far. 

Harry thinks not. 

Harry also thinks that because of this, she would be the last person to deal with the trivialities of rivalry - _ unhealthy _ rivalry. But, it seems, every now and then, the friction between her and her sister, Zofia, creeps far enough up to overpower the safeguard of her self-confidence. Far enough to warrant something no-one deserves.

Insecurity.

“I think the importance of this is to consider Zofia’s own side too.” He purses his lips before speaking again. “She is protective of you, certainly, and from that I think it is sensible to say that she would, as a result of her habits, not wish these insecurities and… and worries upon you.” Ela nods. “You… you speak of your father and his favouritism, but I think Zofia wishes the opposite; she doesn’t want you to feel lesser or inadequate as a result of such a thing, and she feels the only way to guarantee that is to keep her eye on you as much as she can - to moderate you and to keep you in check, and maybe she worries that your divergent confidence will cause you to drift away from her, out of her reach.” His mouth grows dry. “Do you see what I mean?”

Ela nods with unexpected timidness, lips flattening into a pensive line. “Yes.”

Harry nods in response. “Some would say the path to hell is lined with good intentions.” He laughs momentarily. “I think that would be too dire to describe you and your sister’s relationship, but I think it holds suitable merit.” He gestures openly. “All I think needs consideration is that there is communication to be had here; she loves you, I can assure you of that, but I can also accept that that brings overprotectiveness. Good intentions, but…”

“Hell.”

“Well…” Ela is often impulsive, and comedically so to Harry in this moment. “Not hell, to be exact, but the goodness of the intentions are clearly not reflected in the results…”

The correction is open-ended, and the ever-sharp Ela snatches it up quickly. “No. Not exactly.” Her pensiveness ceases, shattering away and coming to be replaced by bright irises and a thankful pout. “Thank you for this, Six.” She had spoken of her intentions to visit the local art exhibitions that continue throughout the local area still, and Harry supposes she can’t help herself now that her mind rests at ease. “Same time tomorrow?” For the moment.

“Yes, Ela.” He smiles, nodding and ending the recording as Ela stands up with a groan of chair legs against the floor. “Same time tomorrow.”


End file.
